


peace in the depths.

by kuugeki (strangestirony)



Series: the deaths of a martyr [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Identity Issues, Inside the fandom tab and thought, LET ME TELL YOU, Morally Ambiguous Character, Not Beta Read, Past Lives, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unreliable Narrator, angry boi, hahahaha, izuna is not fucking okay, i’m so out of it i put the title, smh smh, thats you izuna, this is would work out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:48:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25125721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangestirony/pseuds/kuugeki
Summary: In the beginning, Uchiha Obito was a name that carried the misplaced faith of two people. And in the end, it was nothing more than a name for somebody who never existed in the first place.
Relationships: Uchiha Izuna & Uchiha Madara, Uchiha Izuna & Uchiha Obito
Series: the deaths of a martyr [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847620
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	peace in the depths.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey, it’s another shit oneshot. 
> 
> (Not Beta-Read).  
> Sort of sequel piece to “light that slants through”.

Once, there was everything. Or so, Izuna had thought. Once _he_ had everything. His clan, his brothers, his mother and ever absent father— _he's too busy, I'm sorry Izuna, but—_

His eyes. His pride, his sense of self. His skills, his hands. Everything he could ever need. Everything he could ever want. It was perfect, or as perfect as one could have in a bloody and war-hungry world. _(Always taking, never giving back. You take and take and take... when does it stop? When will you give me something in return?)_

_(Never.)_

Izuna was no civilian royalty, but he was just as good. He was _better_. And then, the pieces of the picture he called _perfect_ , had cracked—

shattered—

gone.

After birthing his youngest brother, his mother had passed away. _(She was pale, blue, cold— she was dead. Information spreads quick, Izuna knew this would have happened despite being some doe-eyed five year old with a quickly hardening view on the world.)_

_(His youngest brother was called Ikumi. His father looked upon the babe, his new name fallen off of a dead woman's lips with the tiniest amount of hatred in his eyes, and intones, "Your name is Kumi.")_

Then came little Ikumi who was pushed and _pushed and pushed_ by his father, who's intense hatred for the boy that _murderedheryoumonsterwhydidIletyoulive—_

He slipped. Panic clouded his judgement, the people that had put their lives on the line for his survival had died in vain and he fell to a wretched Senju's blade.

Izuna had stayed at Ikumi's empty grave for three days and nights as his eyes _burned_ , before the fucking _bastard_ of a father had demanded he return to his post lest he made him do so himself. Izuna who knew his worth only as a backup heir had bit his tongue until it bled, tightened his jaw and turned away with nothing more than anguish and anger in his heart.

The taste of blood in his mouth turned his mood sour.

_(This world we live in is ugly and wrong. I hate it.)_

By then, Izuna had drowned his thoughts in cold water until it froze and died away. He had smiled amiably, answered in soft or cool voices like his father—Otou-sama—

_bastardbastardbastardbastard—_

—had expected him to be.

Izuna had _actually_ met Madara, his elder brother, the clan heir who _shone_ with talent and radiated it from his every pore, when he was ten. Just shy of a year after Ikumi's death. Three days until Ikumi's anniversary.

_(Old anger that never really managed to settle. Raging, scorching like the Grand Fireball that their clan had favored so much. Whenever he went there, let his thoughts flood his mind like a great tsunami that had just broke through a gate, his eyes itched. The feeling of pins and needles in his eyes, how his vision had sharpened and he could see every little crack upon Ikumi's gravestone. The kanjis that spelt only part of his name wrong because his wretched bastard of a father had twisted and perverted the last gift his mother left behind._

_He had a suspicion of what it was, never confirming. Always angry, hatehatehatehate at the thought.)_

He was bitter and angry at the older boy who had always been away to _train and train until he was more blood and bruises than skin. Until he was nothing but dust in the wind, an unidentified corpse strung in the wild and a misspelled name on a gravestone—_

Until he held no substance as the eldest brother that looked after his younger siblings and more like an entity that they had to chase, that overshadowed them like an unknowing phantom.

_(I refuse to use these cursed eyes you call a miracle. If this is the power that you had yearned for in all of your miserable years, then I pity you.)_

Their first meeting was awkward. Without the bastard's— _Tajima—_ presence in their midst, they had no bridge. Two ends swaying in the wind dangerously, trying to meet in the middle and form something stable, but never able to. He was curt, eyes wide with mild hysteric and _angerhate_ and walked away with his hands tightly curled up and betrayal heavy in his stomach.

_(You were suppose to understand us.)_

Kotoharu, their third youngest— _his_ second youngest dies not long after.

_(—In vain. He fell so quick that Izuna had almost slowed down in his run in shock. The enemy shinobi had slaughtered him like mere sheep to be culled. His blood boiled, his eyes burned until he cried tears of blood. Izuna's frozen mind had heated up with anger._

_Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy—_

_"So, you sons of bitches have_ _a more revolting_ _version of those_ _disgusting_ _eyes."_

_His eyes burned with the last thing that Ikumi had ever left him and Tajima had cursed him with. With another brother stewing inside of his hate-intoxicated mind, those tomoes that he was quick to despise had twisted until they were of a unique pattern._

_His eyes had been blistering hot with angerhate as he glared._

_The man screamed as he was burned with flames as dark as an everlasting night. He screeched in pain as his skin melted and melded with the metal of his armor and Izuna had screamed in hysterical anguish with him.)_

Izuna came back with soot on his clothes and another body to bury. _(It was my fault. It is my fault, if I was better. If I trained more, if I had more power—)_

If he had more power. _(He did.)_

He did, _IdoIdoIdoIdoIdo—_

_I killed you._

His world twisted and turned like those crimson eyes he possessed and his mind _cracked_.

* * *

Once, Izuna had everything. Then, he had come to possess nothing. Not even his own life, which had been forfeit to Senju Tobirama, who struck him and _left him to rot and die and leave this god forsaken world thankyou—_

* * *

On February 10th, Uchiha Obito was born. A hairless and blood-covered babe that wept and cried for his mother as she weakly cooed at him.

* * *

_A few days before my birthday, I had died with a smile on my lips and darkness forever in my sight. My anger had been lifted and I was finally free._

* * *

_(How cruel of you, God of this world.)_

* * *

Uchiha Obito was a child who gave and gave as the world took from him selfishly. He was a bastard half-blood that stuck out like a sore thumb despite possessing the same smooth, pale skin— the same obsidian eyes and dark, almost coal-colored hair. In a large family that produced talented ninjas that were elegant and refined, he was someone who failed spectacularly at everything he set out to do.

_(Everything that didn't involve that bleeding heart of his.)_

His parents had died in a mission gone wrong and he was left to live with his grandma who struggled to pay their dues at the corner of the Uchiha district. He didn't hate it, but Obito had burned with anger and shame every time that the old woman lumbered home with another year added to her already impressive repertoire. The anger and shame was like an old shadow that clung to him, a cloak he could never fully shed.

_(Out of the four of us, I was the oldest. I was the most capable, I was suppose to prevent this. I was suppose to prevent you all from dying. Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy—)_

Instead, he had tried to ease that sense of guilt and helplessness by running around Konoha—helping the elderly with their groceries, their chores— even the kinder, old shopkeepers who needed someone to carry around boxes or things they struggled with. He frequented this, _gave and gave and gave—_ even as it died down as he was inducted into the Shinobi Academy when given the chance.

* * *

Obito was eight, half way towards the age of nine when he entered the Shinobi Academy. It wasn't soon until he became the dead-last of his year and had shamefully failed his graduation exam and was held back a year as his year-mates, those that were both civilian-born and of shinobi background left without him, a headband on their person and an ugly jeer on their faces. 

_(Sometimes, when he had looked at questions, his mind would calm down and burn. Words would flood his mind and he felt as if he were going to go crazy. Simulation tests triggered this the easiest; plans would be made in seconds, the next better and more hopeless than the last. Flooding his mind until it pounded with the ferocity of five large, war hammers behind smashed against his skull._

_Sometimes, when Obito had held a shuriken in his hand, it felt like he was greeting an old friend. Like a ghost had past over him and the cool feeling of the metal in his grip was the most familiar thing in the world. Like he had done this thousands and thousands of times until he could throw it with his eyes closed and still hit somebody's jugular dead on._

_It felt like everything was right, until he threw it and then everything was wrong—)_

Everything was fine. _He had to push through. He had to earn money so his grandma could rest easy with the rest of her short life. He had to become something that was less of a stain on her life and more like a shining medal._ He couldn't fail.

And so, he didn't. His 5th year inside of the academy, as the heat of the Third Shinobi World War had finally kicked up, he had passed. Barely. To supplement, he was placed with soon-to-be-Chunin, boy genius Hatake Kakashi who, for some reason, _grated_ on his nerves and conscience. Apart from the obvious reason that the boy was an absolute fucking _prick_.

Obito didn't like him.

And, Rin who was the bridge to their ever-clashing relationship.

He liked Rin. Rin, who did not sneer at him to feel more validated, or looked down upon him because he was _wrongwrongwrong—_

Rin, who believed in him. Rin, who was his friend.

_(It's fine.)_

* * *

_(Everything is wrong.)_

Everything is wrong. _This was not suppose to happen._

Uchiha Obito who had a naive outlook on the world. Uchiha Obito who believed he could fail and try again, where he could fall and pick himself up despite all of his shortcomings and stand out on top. Uchiha Obito who wanted to become the leader of this wretched village.

Uchiha Obito who is nothing more than a name for a dead man walking. Who is _wrongwrongwrongwrong—_

_(I am dead!)_

He is alive, he is breathing. He can _see—_

 _—_ Kakashi, who is bleeding from the head and heavily concussed. Rin, who is ragged and about to hit a chakra coma with the amount of chakra she was expending to heal them both, despite her obvious chakra deficit. Kakashi, who he was annoyingly fond of— _he grows on you like shitty fungus, bad personality and all._ Rin, who he adored, who he liked. _She was bright and shining and accepted him—_ she was staring at him with shock in her eyes, she was—

"Your eyes..."

"Oi, idiot, your eyes... you did it."

Obito—

 _Izuna_ —

—drew a kunai and breathes out as he stares at the crimson orbs and the tomoes that spun wildly. He breathes and feels elated. _I can protect them, I have the power to now. I'm no longer the Uchiha Clan's disgrace. I have these eyes—_

He breathes and feels like the world has crashed down upon him again. He breathes out in horror and stares at the eyes that _take and take and take_ just like the world did— does from him. Looks at those eyes that had burned with years of anger and hurt. With hatred— with nothing.

_(I am alive.)_

I am—

Uchiha—  
  


Obi-  
  


Izuna—   
  
  


_(IzunaIzunaIzunaIzunayoucan'tdie, not you too. Don't. Don't go.)_   
  
  
  
  


He was.

* * *

_Don't cry brother. We all die in the end... it seems that I was not fortunate enough to help you see out your dream. But, my eyes will help you do so. Take them brother. I will be with you in your heart and your spirit._

_..._

_(I never will get to see yours, but I'm going to see mine.)_

* * *

"Obito-kun, please take a seat."

He stands, faintly registers her words and numbly sits once he realizes that, _Uchiha Obito_ is his name now. He is a chuunin— _a ridiculous rank. Who needed ranks when a kunai to the throat was all that was needed to kill you? When a blade had sliced through the darkness and slid cleanly against your neck until your head flew off of your body? When blood splattered everywhere, not caring who was doing the splattering and who was bleeding? Whether it was a five year old drawing his last breath or a ten year old murdering a caravan in cold blood—_

He was admitted into a Post-Mission Traumatic Experience Evaluation—

He was admitted into two week of therapy which would determine if he'd be in working order.

His insides burned and the whole hour he had spent on that couch was inside the flitting thoughts of his mind, agonizing over his untimely revival as Uchiha Izuna, who had died.

How unsightly.

* * *

Two weeks later, Obito is released from therapy with a pass on his evaluation and rejoins Team Minato. He strolls into Team Seven—Minato—'s training ground with a grin fixed on his lips feeling _fakefakefakefakethiefposer_ as he greeted them with a sense of familiarity he was not entitled to.

_Fraud._

He fits back in seamlessly with his past training that he has a grip on with pure iron will and lets their worries roll off of him with a bright— _fake—_ grin on his face.

_Everything is fine._

_(It_ _will_ _be.)_

And he continues to deceive them with his fake laughs and smiles, strikes conversations like he had done once before as Obito and continued to live a lie as he slowly rotted inside.

_I am not suppose to be alive._

_(He stares at the mountain decorated with three carved faces and zooms on the second, who's stoic expression seemed to hint sometime more angry— or so he saw it to be. Then, he says,_

_"You were said to be so perfect, so great—a genius... so, why could you have not killed me correctly?")_

* * *

Missions are all technical. He runs them with an amount of grace that Obito had never really manage to possess and manages to coordinate with Kakashi and Rin with more finesse than he should have been able to.

 _(Minato—_ sensei _, had pulled him aside while they were running through katas with an inquisitive smile on his lips and a proud shine in his eyes. He was quiet for a moment and Izuna had already figured what the trouble was when he opened his mouth._

_There's an odd twist to his lips as he thinks, I have changed a bit, haven't I?)_

Missions were hell. Because they always resulted in violence, in hatehatehatehate—Iwa was determined to participate and create more skirmishes around Konoha's border. Despite their low-rank, and relatively-suppose-to-be-peaceful runs to create breathing space for Konoha, it was impossible to escape the _deathwarbloodangerhate—_

It was impossible to escape from what he once was. What fragments of him still is.

* * *

_(How_ _continuously_ _cruel you are, God of_ _this_ _world.)_

* * *

Izuna wakes up with a jolt. His eyes snap open with alarm and his groggy mind instantly sharpens as he quickly notes the darkness around him. Jagged rocks decorate the walls and the humid air choked him.

 _("Kakashi!" He hollered, racing towards the silver-haired boy who had let his guard down._ No, you fool!

_Izuna distantly thinks of another fool that possessed the same color hair, who was also hailed as a genius. Thinks of how he failed to—_

_The enemy shinobi brings his katana down and makes a clean slice down Kakashi's face. Izuna tightens his jaw in anger as he fishes out a kunai and flings it at the man with extreme prejudice._

_Notagainnotagainnotagain—_

_Its running straight towards the back of Kakashi, as the shinobi takes advantage of the boy's sudden loss of depth perception—he hit his eye, Izuna realized—and grabs him by his neck, dragging him up to the height of the kunai. Izuna draws out another and waits for the split second—_

_He performs a Kawarimi. The sudden loss of velocity makes the kunai clatter to the ground and the Uchiha out-of-time appears right behind Kakashi. He quickly channels chakra to his vacant hand, reaches out and yanks Kakashi back by the boy's shirt. The newly minted jounin flies backward, visible eye wide in shock at the sudden whiplash._

_With no more distractions, Izuna quickly drives a kunai through the man's throat. He looks up from his kill, where Kakashi laid, slumped over against the bark of the large Konoha trees. His stiffness eases as he places back on the mask._

_"Oi, Bakashi, get up! We have to hurry!")_

Izuna screams silently in pain at his throbbing left side, at his left side that was in bandages and missing—

—Now that he thought about it, the rocks—

_("Hey... Kakashi, I never did give you a present for your promotion, huh?"_

_He thinks of how blankly he took it. At the time when Kakashi came back as a Jonin, and he looked at the boy whose eyes were so dead, then thought,_ he's a little like me _and_ they're going to send you to your death.

 _He thinks of how Kakashi's been keeping his left eye closed, looks at the dried blood at the corner of his eyes, flaking and smiles as best as he could. He thinks,_ that is my fault.

_I should have been stronger. If I—_

_No._

_"Oi, you idiot, you can give it to me when we make it back alive. I can— Rin, help me push this boulder off of him— Rin! Rin!" The boy who was usually so standoffish and cold had floundered, tears gathering at the corner of his eye. His voice sounded thick, like he was getting ready to cry and garble._

_"...Don't be so optimistic, it's not like you, ya jerk."_

_"Then, don't be so pessimistic that you won't survive, idiot!"_

_Izuna huffs out a weak laugh. He reminisces on the times when he had been on this team— this family that he stole. And thinks, I don't think it was half bad...)_

His only hand comes up to his eye. _I can see— why can I see— NO—_

_("My time is drawing short... Kakashi, it was my fault that you lost your right. I should have been there, I should have—"_

_"You idiot, Obito, don't say that. I was weak and my eye was the price, but—"_

_"—so take mine." He glances at the chunin who was still in shock. His lone Sharingan pulses as he stares at her—sees the blue chakra run through her coils and to her core, her stomach where an—_

_No. They couldn't have. No—_

_It didn't matter for him anymore. But, for his teammate, who..._

_"Kakashi, it'll be me. I will become the eye, and see your future with you."_

_He laughs at the irony of it and chokes on his blood. The last time he died he had also—)_

His eye. He can see, _who_ —

Izuna whirls around in a panic and settles on a decrepit old man with a shocking amount of spiky, white hair that fell down his back and covered a portion of his face. The Sharingan spun in his eyes, but seemed a little dull in the darkness that settled over them. Cold water seemed to flood his stomach and he trembled.

_That man, that face—_

His eyes wildly scan the old man who was watching him. A former shadow of his self, a weary version of the boy that was miles away from the four of them— always training, always studying— the last. The ever stretching shadow that encompassed them.

He thinks of Konoha. A union between the Senju and Uchiha, and wonders. Remembers the slandering and old brainwashing that had been spoken against this man, takes in the dark and dusty cave where he stewed. Sees his dull eyes which seemed so dark it almost swallowed him. He sees how those seemingly dull eyes radiated so much _hatehatehate—_

Izuna thinks, _oh. He's like me. He understands._ Before he silently corrects himself, _he understood 'that' me._

That boy who stewed in his hatred as he stood at Ikumi's grave. The one who screamed and cried blood as he burned a man alive, his younger brother's corpse in his hands.

Izuna stoically peers at the ghost of a man he had known once, his eldest brother who he once desperately clung on like a boy who was dangling off a broken bridge, sitting upon his empire of dirt and thinks of the misery he's drowning in. Of the red-lined memories, vision of hate, blood and anger, of so many children being sent out, of so many people dying for a war they can no longer remember the meaning of, of betrayal tinged in bleeding crimson and the taste of bitterness and thought,

 _we have created you,_

_Onii-sama._

**Author's Note:**

> First, I wrote this as a standalone oneshot with no ties to “light that slants through”. And then, I went, wait. No. Wait- hey that works and here we are, 2/3 ways to the end. 
> 
> If there are any continuity issues with this and LTST—abbreviated for my sanity, LTST was written without “peace in the depths” in mind. Actually, peace in the depths wasn’t suppose to be a thing at all. And then, it was. pfT—
> 
> One of the lines that was addressed to Obito was accidentally typed to say, “Obito, please sleep.” Haha... seeing as it not in any part of the final version, you could say its been scrapped. Sort of. When I checked over for mistakes I saw it and laughed at myself who had written it at 3 am. Seems my subconscious was trying to get me to do the healthy stuff. 
> 
> Haha.
> 
> While trying to think of names, Kumi I figured was something along the lines of like a death omen—the Ku character in his name. While Ikumi, was suppose to be “beauty”, as named by his mother.


End file.
